


Lipgloss

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bridesmaids (2011)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A getaway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipgloss

Becca calls on a rainy Thursday, when the kids have been at school for an hour and the silence in the house still feels precious and new. Rita's sitting on the couch, ignoring her _Power Yoga in Your 30s_ DVD and painting her toenails a pearly, shimmering blue.

"Kevin says he needs some time to think," Becca says, her normally bright voice carefully subdued. Rita knows that tone. It says _holding myself together with my fingernails._ "What do you think that means?"

Rita wiggles her toes slowly, watching the light play over the wet polish. "It depends."

"He's gone to stay with his mom." Becca's voice wavers just a little, barely enough for Rita to hear. "He took all of his stuff."

Rita closes her eyes and leans back against the couch. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

They're both quiet for a while. Rita stares down at her feet and listens to the rain beat against the window. She really doesn't like this color after all. She'll strip it off as soon as it dries and re-paint them her usual red.

"What do I do now?" Becca asks.

Rita twists the cap firmly onto the bottle. "We take a vacation."

**

Her plans start out grand and shrink to reality, as usual. First she's thinking about a week on the beach in Costa Rica, or in the mountains at a Swiss chalet. By the time she's looked at the bank account and talked to Paul about how long he can watch the kids alone without someone ending up dead or in jail, it turns into a long weekend at Virginia Beach.

"What about Disneyland?" Becca asks when Rita calls to tell her the plan. Her voice still isn't quite right, not her old chirpy self, but there's some hope there now. "I love Disneyland."

"We're going to have a girls' weekend, Becca. That means somewhere private where we can drink." She can hear crashes and yelling from the other room, almost certainly video game-related. "Also if it's going to be a vacation for _me_ , no kids."

"Oh. Well, okay! I'm sure you'll find an awesome place."

Rita frowns out the window and wishes it didn't feel quite so much like she was using her maternal skills to coax that little note of hope out louder. "We'll have a great time, I promise. Our own little off-season spring break."

Becca laughs at that, and the sound is much brighter. Rita nods to her reflection in the glass. She's going to take Becca under her wing and fix her up right. That's what friends are for.

**

They rent a car and drive straight from the airport down to the water. Rita stands on the beach, her fingers twisted in the straps of her sandals, feeling the sand burning the soles of her feet and watching boats skim over the water in the distance. She breathes deep and lets the air fill up every cell in the body, pushing away her real life and only leaving the smell of salt and the wind.

Becca walks out into the edge of the surf, letting the last gasps of the waves break white and soft around her ankles. "It's gorgeous here," she calls back over her shoulder. "This was a great idea."

"This is why you should always listen to me." Rita tosses her shoes back in the direction of the car, then starts walking down the beach. Seagulls swoop down toward the sand and then away again. She veers toward the water, almost close enough for the little waves to catch her feet, too, then away again.

It's fall, if just barely, and early enough in the day that there's no one else on this stretch of the beach. It feels like it's just her and Becca in the whole world.

She turns and looks back over her shoulder to find Becca still standing in the same place, hands tucked in her pockets, looking down at her own feet. The water keeps splashing around her ankles. Even from this far away, Rita can tell she's smiling. That's good, that's what this trip was for.

Becca looks very young, standing there.

Rita tucks that thought away and starts walking back. They need to get to the beach house and put their stuff away so they can go in search of a liquor store.

**

"This is top-shelf tequila." Rita leans over the counter and waves the glass under Becca's nose. "There are plenty of people--plenty of my exes, even--who would have me shot on sight for what I am about to do to this tequila."

Becca laughs, her eyes wide, her lips pink and shiny with the cheap, terrible lip gloss they got at the grocery store where they loaded up on chips and mixer and snacks that violate both their diets. Rita has the stuff smeared on her own mouth as well, which is how she knows it tastes like glue, no matter how cute Becca makes it seem.

"Well, what is it you're going to do?" Becca asks, and Rita realizes she's just been standing there for a minute, glass shoved in Becca's face, not moving. She shakes herself and turns back to the blender.

"I'm going to mix it with processed fake-strawberry crap that's ninety percent high-fructose corn syrup," she says, dumping the tequila into the machine and setting the lid tightly in place. "And even worse, ice. I'm going to fuck up genuinely good tequila with nasty, nasty filth."

"But it'll still get us drunk," Becca says, and now her grin is wide and cocky, like the sorority girl Rita belatedly remembers she must have been.

"It'll get us _good_ and drunk." Rita hits the button and watches the contents of the blender go up in bright pink foam. "I expect us to drink all of it."

**

They do, every last bit, half of it sitting on the couch watching 80s movies off satellite and the other half dancing around the living room aggressively serenading each other with the love themes from those same movies. Rita knocks a lamp off a shelf and breaks it. Becca gets on the coffee table to showcase her dancing and almost nose-dives into the couch getting off again.

They have to help each other up the stairs to bed. Outside the bathroom, Becca leans in and presses a kiss to Rita's cheek. "G'night," she says. "See you in...the afternoon, probably."

Rita has to laugh. "Shit. Yes. I'm too old for this."

"Shh." Becca shakes her head and stumbles into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a click on her second try. Rita stands there for a moment, not quite swaying, then goes down the hall to her room. She needs to be asleep too badly to wait up and wash the pink shimmery glue away.

**

The next day, Rita drives back into town while Becca sunbathes on the porch. (To be accurate, the next late afternoon. They really did sleep most of the day away with their hangovers.)

She told Becca she was getting wine for the evening, on the grounds that they won't get nearly as fucked up on that. Probably. If they're lucky. Really, she's going back to a store she had glimpsed down the street from the liquor store. Getting the wine takes five minutes; in the store, out, throw it in the trunk. Then she locks the car and walks down to the Lover's Lane Boutique.

It's just like every other faux-classy sex store she's ever seen, and a minimal glance around the interior confirms that she doesn't need to waste her time checking out most of the stock. She goes straight to the counter and asks for what she wants. She would be out of there as quickly as she was with the beer if the clerk wasn't just a little bit slow on the uptake.

Still, it's a successful trip, and she's back at the house, drinking a beer and watching the ocean, before Becca's sunburn has a chance to set in.

**

They sit out on the porch all evening, drinking the wine and talking about nothing. The breeze off the ocean is cool and wet, toying with their hair and leaving it clinging to their skin. Becca laughs at everything, even things that aren't particularly funny. Rita appreciates the sound. It's a nice accompaniment to the crash of the waves on the beach.

When they carry the empty bottle and glasses in to the kitchen they're both pleasantly warm and buzzed, not nearly as drunk as the night before. There's no music, but Becca dances around the kitchen, giggling to herself while she rinses out the glasses and Rita sets the coffee maker up for the morning.

She leans back against the counter when she's done, the edge digging sharply into her fingers as she watches Becca wave her hands and spin. "I bought you something."

Becca comes to a halt, rocking up onto her toes. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's in my room, c'mon."

Upstairs, Becca sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap, every inch the good girl eager for a present. It sends a shiver down Rita's spine as she takes the Lover's Lane bag from behind her suitcase and pulls out the smooth, lurid package. Becca's eyes go wide when she sees it. "Oh. That's...oh."

"It's a vibrator." The word sounds awful in the quiet of the room. She reaches for her usual backups; brassiness, aggressive humor. She doesn't put up with awkwardness. "You do know what one is for, right?"

Becca flushes bright pink. "Of course I do. I mean, I've never actually...but I _know_."

"You've never." She figured; that's why she bought it, but having it confirmed is still pisses her the hell off. What is life going to do to this poor woman now?

Becca lifts her chin and looks at Rita, direct and not quite defiant, her fingers curling around the cylinder in its package in a way that makes Rita want to say _yes, exactly_. "You could show me."

**

Becca stretched out on the bed, her lips bright red and swollen from biting back soft noises, her free hand digging helplessly into the sheets. Sweaty hair clinging to her face and back arching up over and over, heels scrambling against the bed. Rita's hand curved around hers curved around the vibrator, guiding it against and into her, backing off and beginning again and again until she cries out in frustration, then release.

They kiss and it doesn't taste like lipgloss. Rita breathes against her mouth for a long time.

**

In the morning they walk down to the water at low tide and sit in the damp, exposed sand, watching the gulls swoop down to the water.

They have another day before they fly home. They can come here again sometime. Once a year. Their own special vacation.

Rita digs her toes into the sand and tells herself not to think about it.

"It's beautiful here," Becca says. Rita nods but doesn't answer, and they fall quiet again for a while. The gulls rise and fall and rise. The waves break, a little too far away to mean anything.

Becca reaches across the space between them and curls her fingers loosely around Rita's wrist. "Smile."

Rita doesn't, quite, but she turns her hand in Becca's hold so they can thread their fingers together.  



End file.
